Pulled Down
by Cinaed Born Of Fire
Summary: The war against Voldemort is about to be won, but at what price? Venture into the mind of the Boy Who Lived (and loved) and see if the ends justified the means.


(Author's Notes: This one-parter was inspired by 'Full of Grace' by Sarah McLachlan. If you wish to see the lyrics that inspired me, please copy and paste the following link: http://www.sarahmclachlan.com/lyrics.jsp?s=42. *grins sheepishly* Or just go wait until the end of the story. At the end of the story, it will switch from Harry's POV to third person omniscient. Er, or whatever third person omniscient is.  
  
Summary: The war against Voldemort is about to be won, but at what price? Venture into the mind of the Boy Who Lived (and loved) and see if the ends justified the means.  
  
Disclaimers: The characters belong to JK Rowling. The song lyrics belong to Sarah McLachlan.  
  
Warnings: This story is quite angst-ridden and dark, and if you don't like sad stories, don't read this. It also contains some unpleasant images of death, just to tell the squeamish.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Pulled Down  
  
By Cinaed  
  
The time is coming soon, Dumbledore tells me. Soon I will be able to rise up and destroy Voldemort once and for all. Soon I will be able to kill the man who murdered my parents and countless others just for his selfish gains and pleasures. Soon I will be able to annihilate the monster that ruined my life and propelled me to a status above all others for the mere reason that I lived after no one else had after a curse that meant instant death.  
  
I'm the Boy Who Lived. I wonder how many times that title's been spoken. I wonder if that title's been whispered like a frantic prayer to a merciless god just before the Killing Curse freezes their expression of terror forever. I suppose I'll never know.  
  
Those at Hogwarts, they whisper about me even more than they used to, back before Voldemort rose to power again. Their whispers don't reach my ears most of the time, but I know they're whispering anyway. After all, how could anyone resist the urge to add more stories to the growing number of tales about Mad Potter? I can't remember whether it's been said that you're insane only if you think you're sane, or if you're insane either way. I imagine it doesn't matter anymore.  
  
I have another title, one that only I know. Well, I and the dead. When I die, I'll have my tombstone have the bare necessities (my name, my date of birth, my date of death) and a single title above my name.  
  
The Boy Who Loved.  
  
Ron laughed his head off when I first told him the label. I can still see the tears slipping from those bright blue eyes of his, splashing against his tanned cheeks and dripping onto his robes. When he realized I was serious, he sobered and asked me why.  
  
So I told him. Because I did love. When people talked about me, it was always about how I had 'defeated' Voldemort, how I was extraordinary, or how I was twisted and disturbed from all that had happened to me. They never said that I loved, and if they did, they made it out to be like I could never love without being destroyed, that I could never love without the person simply using me. They never said that I loved, truly loved, but I did love. I loved all too much.  
  
I remember the serious look that came into his eyes then, the mature look that had lingered on his sixteen-year-old visage. He had hugged me then, and told me quietly that he knew that I was human and that I loved just like everyone else.  
  
I love him. In the platonic way, of course. We've been friends for so long that it's become almost in a way that transcends sexuality and petty human problems. We'd die for each other, and in a way, I am. Slowly, but surely, I'm dying.  
  
I've been dying for a long time, I think. Mortality has tightened its grip on me in a way that made me surprised when I woke up one day and realized I was passing away into the beyond, bit by bit.  
  
Perhaps I should be called the Boy Who Loved Too Well. Nearly everyone I've met has crept their way into my heart and stolen a piece. But when they died, they clung to that piece, didn't they? They shattered that stolen piece with their death, every one of them.  
  
Rebeus Hagrid, with his loud, booming laugh and cheerful grin; the way his beetle-like eyes would glitter like obsidian as he whispered, "Yeh're gonna beh someone, 'arry!" He was my first friend, and when Lucius Malfoy killed him in front of my eyes during my sixth year, Hagrid stole away a slice of my heart. He might not have been the world's greatest Care of Magical Creatures teacher, but he tried his best, and that was all we could ask.  
  
Neville Longbottom, with his round, honest face and soft, hesitant voice; the way he was so brave and yet so remarkably human. He showed true bravery as he quietly bore the weight of two insane parents on his back. He was one of my staunchest supporters that I never truly explained my love to, and when he was murdered by a Death Eater only a few months ago, Neville murdered a piece of my heart. He would have been a great Herbology teacher someday.  
  
Dean Thomas, with his good-natured humor and obsession with football; the way he kept Seamus out of trouble and kept his head in times of difficulty against the Slytherin House and later the Death Eaters. He was another good friend I didn't appreciate until it was far too late, and when he died by Wormtail's hand during my sixth year, Dean shattered another portion of my heart. He deserved a better death than that, caught by surprise just when we thought the battle was won.  
  
Parvati Patil, with her quiet giggles and fixation for Trelawney; the way she stood up for Neville and others even when she'd be made fun of. She had been beautiful and in return I had let her lead during the Yule Ball. She was probably a lot smarter than I gave her credit for, and when she was killed by a faceless Death Eater during the beginning of Voldemort's return, she took a piece away too, a piece because of her kindness towards Neville. She too deserved a better death, one that wouldn't have destroyed her beauty. But, thinking about it, what's beauty to a dead person?  
  
Seamus Finnigan, with his energetic, Irish charm and cheerfulness that was contagious; the way he never ran out of jokes and always had a good word towards everyone (well, except for any Slytherin). He was almost relieved to fall, I think, when he died only a few weeks after Dean. The two were closer than brothers, and when Wormtail killed him too, I think he welcomed the chance to be near Dean once more. Still, his death ripped another piece of my heart from my chest.  
  
Charlie Weasley, with his wind-roughened grin and good-natured helpfulness in getting Ron and the rest of us out of scraps; the way he was always there when we needed him and knew that we simply children in a troubled time. He was the second oldest, but that didn't keep him from keeping every single Weasley safe to the best of his abilities. I loved him too, because of his love for Ron and his acceptance of me and Hermione. When two years ago he fell in Romania to a werewolf that had been under the Imperius Spell by Voldemort, his death tore another piece of my heart, and a huge part of the rest of the Weasley family's hearts.  
  
Molly Weasley, with all her chiding and her protectiveness of the Weasley brood; the way she was a mother hen to her children and to everyone who came into contact with her family. She was the mother I never got to have, and for that I am deeply indebted to her. When she was murdered by Lucius Malfoy a few weeks ago, she died with honor in protecting her husband long enough for him to call reinforcements to their supposedly safe house. Still, her senseless death dissolved another piece of my heart and broke Arthur Weasley, completely.  
  
Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger, with her bossy know-it-all attitude and loyalty to me and Ron, despite our masculine stupidity at times; the way she tried to help us her own way and somehow ended up compromising with us. She was brilliant, everyone said so, and I attempt to comfort myself that at least she had received her Head Girl badge two weeks before that summer day when Wormtail came to her house. Still, her demise ripped another portion, a large portion, of my heart away. She was my closest friend besides Ron, and it was she who had helped us through everything, from our first year onwards.  
  
Ronald Weasley. Ron Weasley, with his trustworthiness and devotion to his family and friends; the way he stood up for people even when it got him into trouble. He may not have been as brilliant as Hermione, but he always used his skills to his advantage. After all, it was his chess skills that he used to get into Voldemort's head and figure out where the monster would strike next. I just wish he would've let me come with him to kill his mother's murderer. Perhaps he would have lived then. As it was, his death only three days after Hermione's murder came as a shock to most, but perhaps not as big of a surprise to me. At least he killed Wormtail. He died doing what he wanted. That doesn't help my now shattered heart, because Ron's death destroyed everything.  
  
Even my enemies have nudged their way into my heart. Well, one that's joined the ranks of the dead at least. Draco Malfoy. We were more alike than I think he realized, he and I. We had both been born into our roles, we both resembled our fathers, and we both are doomed to fall in the tasks we were forced to play. The only difference was that he fell first. I can still recall the look of anguish on his visage when he raised his wand and performed the Killing Spell that jerked his father back, lifeless, against the gravestone of his mother. After all, it was only a week ago. Even as I close my eyes now, I am unable to block out the look of sweet relief on his pale, tormented face before a werewolf under Voldemort's control ripped out his throat and sent blood spurting all over the beast-man's silver fur.  
  
That's ten people whose names I can remember easily. I know there are countless others that I didn't know by name who died against Voldemort and his minions. Now I'll never know them. The time is coming soon, Dumbledore tells me. Soon I'll be able to kill Voldemort and scream the names of the blessed dead in his lifeless face. Hagrid, Seamus, Dean, Parvati, Neville, Charlie, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and Mrs. Weasley; I'll scream their names into Voldemort's ears once he's dead.  
  
And then I can die, in peace, and finally be able to ignore the taunts of being Mad Potter. Though, I truly don't understand why people think I'm insane. Just because I talk about Ron and all the rest in present tense and tell people I see them in my dreams. They're waiting for me, just beyond my reach.  
  
Every night I see them in the distance: Ron's flaming locks making him stand out from the group, Hermione waving wildly and grinning as the moonlight flashes against her Head Girl badge, Neville smiling bashfully but his hand being yanked up by Seamus as the Irish boy keeps laughing and forcing the round-faced boy to wave, Dean laughing as well even as he keeps shoving Seamus' shoulder to get him to leave Neville alone, Parvati smiling at me even as she fiddles with a gorgeous braid, Charlie smiling and talking to a grinning Hagrid about something I can't quite catch (but assume are dragons), Draco rolling his eyes at everyone's idiocy, and Mrs. Weasley scolding Draco for not waving.  
  
They're waiting for me, and I long to embrace mortality so that I can be with them. I have to have my revenge first. Now I understand why Sirius and Lupin were so eager to kill Wormtail. That same hatred runs through my veins at the thought of Voldemort. Only I will kill my parents' murderer. Sirius is off searching for Lupin. When Voldemort used the Dark Arts to possess all the werewolves two years ago, Remus had gone missing, and we all could only assume he had been drawn, unwillingly, into Voldemort's control. Sirius has been searching for his friend, the only other original Marauder left, ever since. I miss them. Maybe if Sirius was here I'd be able to think of living beyond Voldemort's death. But he isn't, and I can't. I don't want to be hailed as the world's savior, because if I had truly been their savior I would have killed Voldemort when I was only a babe and saved countless lives (Frank Bryce, Bertha Jorkins, the older Barty Crouch, etc).  
  
Someone's speaking to me, breaking me from my thoughts. Damn them. Then I realize it's Dumbledore who's talking, and my posture relaxes. Sweet relief, much like the relief that flowed over Draco during his last few moments, rushes over me at the grave look on his face. It's time.  
  
I've left a letter for everyone I'll leave behind: Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Bill, Fred, George, Percy, Ginny, Lavender, Mr. Weasley, and a letter to the Daily Prophet that they'll hopefully print after the Final Battle. They'll find them in my belongings afterwards.  
  
I step out into the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore by my side. The old fool knows he's useless, because the only reason /I/ can kill the Dark Lord is because Voldemort has some of my blood within him. I think he'll want to gloat over my death, just a little bit.  
  
Yes, I've lost all respect for the man I once respected most in the world. I've been his pawn, and surely my life would have been far better if he hadn't intervened and twisted my experiences to his own uses.  
  
Voldemort's here. The agony in my head is tribute to that fact. I blink away the darkness, clutching tightly to my wand. This plan seems so stupid, and yet Dumbledore and I both know it will work.  
  
"/Crucio/!" I'm screaming at this point, falling to the ground, feeling snakes of agony slithering through my veins to rip at my insides and make me contort and writhe on the grass before the Dark Lord. After what seems like eternity, he ends the curse, and I am left panting, only able to whisper one soft spell that the Dark Lord won't hear.  
  
"/Ligabimus/!" Such as a short, simple word, but it will mean the end of us both. Ligabimus in Latin means, 'We shall bind.' Essentially, our mortality is now one, and we are bonded in a way that means if I should die, he should die.  
  
"Any last words, Harry Potter?" His high, cruel voice resounds in my ears as I struggle to my feet, well aware that his eyes and Dumbledore's eyes are on me. I force a proud smile on my sweating visage, and speak, my voice strong even as my entire body trembles from the earlier pain.  
  
"Yes. You will die, Voldemort, by your own hand. And when you do, everyone will laugh with glee because no one loves you, they only fear you. We are not afraid of you, Voldemort. Rebeus Hagrid, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Parvati Patil, Neville Longbottom, Charlie Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, and Molly Weasley; none of them feared you in the end, and they'll laugh wherever they are about your death."  
  
He's laughing, clearly amused at my words. "Draco Malfoy? The boy was a pitiful excuse for a Malfoy."  
  
"No, he was the greatest Malfoy the world will ever know. He sacrificed his family, his life, and his happiness for the better cause. It is because of sacrifices like that which make me strong enough to cause your downfall!"  
  
He's laughing again, very much amused at my heroic statements. "Poor Mad Potter, soon everyone will remember you before being the final fool to attempt to stand up against me. With your death, the magical world will crumple." He raises his wand, and points it directly at my heart.  
  
I keep my eyes open even as images and scattered thoughts flit through my mind as he begins the Killing Curse. The pictures, feelings, and sounds come at me in thousands in one second, and yet I can recall them easily as time seems to slow.  
  
The sound of Ron and Hermione's laughter over something or other. The warmth of Neville's smile as he was awarded points during their first year of school. The sound of Mrs. Weasley scolding the twins even as she attempts to keep from smiling, all obvious in her voice. The image of Seamus grinning as he stole one of Hermione's books and dashed away. The thought that Dean had never showed us how to play football. The sound of Seamus' Irish accent teasing Neville about being praised in Herbology. The image of Sirius smiling after I had assured him that I wanted to live with him and not the Dursleys. The thought that I had never visited Godric Hollow. The sound of Percy stiffly arguing with the twins over joining them for a game of Quidditch and finally relenting. The image of Ginny blushing as I smiled at her. The sound of Lupin softly talking about James and Lily. The thought that I'd never see Sirius and Lupin again and that I hoped they were both all right.  
  
Any other thoughts were ended forever as Voldemort ended his roar of, "/Avada Kedavra/!" I saw a brilliant flash of green, brighter than the color of my eyes when I gazed at myself in the mirror, and then all was blackness, a blackness I welcomed as all my sense, at last fled from me.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Voldemort didn't have time to gloat as Harry Potter's lifeless form fell backwards to the earth. Even as the black-haired boy struck the ground, a green flash split the scene again and the Dark Lord crumpled. The twisted monster that had once been an unhappy boy named Tom Riddle gazed at Dumbledore in disbelief even as his eyes began to mist over.  
  
"Damn you, Dumbledore-" The Dark Lord's hate-filled, strangled whisper was cut off as all semblance of life fled that body and the monster crumpled, lifeless, to the ground, face first.  
  
The headmaster of Hogwarts didn't bother to check for life. Instead, he raised his wand towards the sky, and yelled, "/Gratiam habeo/!" Feel grateful! The sky was lit up with a thousand fireworks that only wizards and witches could see, that formed the words, "Voldemort is dead, killed by The Boy Who Lived!" He didn't mention Harry Potter's death. That would come later, after the celebrations.  
  
Several loud pops made Dumbledore glance to his left. All of the remaining Weasley family was there, flushed with happiness.  
  
"You-Know-Who is dead?" Bill's exultant voice was almost pitifully hopeful. Dumbledore pointed towards the Dark Lord's body, and the group all stared in shock.  
  
"Yes, Voldemort-" The sober headmaster was cut off by a mournful cry.  
  
"Harry!" Ginny's anguished cry made all of the other Weasley members jerk and turn to see that Ginny had rushed to the fallen boy's side, her face a mask of disbelief and sorrow. Her trembling hands shook Harry's shoulder, the weeping girl oblivious to the open, sightless eyes.  
  
Dumbledore saw the various reactions of the Weasley clan. Fred and George clung to each other, all cheeriness gone in that stricken moment. Arthur turned away and buried his head in his hands, any semblance of control gone as he wept over his dead son's best friend. Bill moved to comfort his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. Percy, the ever caring brother, moved to awkwardly hug Ginny and pull her away.  
  
"Ginny, Ginny," he said in a soft, trembling voice. "He's dead."  
  
"No!" The only Weasley girl choked on the word and writhed in her brother's grip. "He's just unconscious! Killing the Dark Lord must have made him lose consciousness-and, and he's lost his glasses!" True enough, the glasses had slipped from his face and lay a few feet away from the Boy Who Lived, out of his reach. "He needs his glasses for when he wakes up!"  
  
"He's not going to wake up, Ginny." Percy was relentless, though his voice was soft. "His glasses don't matter to him anymore."  
  
Ginny dissolved into helpless weeping, turning so she could bury her face in Percy's chest and sob until she could weep no more.  
  
Two more pops met the grieving group's ears, and Dumbledore turned to see Sirius Black supporting a gaunt and exhausted Remus Lupin. The two old friends were battered and scratched up, and Sirius looked as gaunt as he had after Azkbaban. He managed a ghost of a smile.  
  
"When Voldemort died, Remus was back to norm-" His hoarse explanation was cut off as he caught sight of Harry. Any trace of a smile vanished from his face, and he blanched. "H-Harry?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Sirius." There was pity in Dumbledore's voice, but the former fugitive didn't heed him, staggering over to where Harry lay. This time, it was Remus who seemed to be supporting Sirius.  
  
"Harry?" he repeated, disbelieving dark eyes focusing on his face.  
  
The Boy Who Lived had a peaceful look on his face, one that might have suggested he was sleeping had his eyes not been wide open. Those vibrant green eyes that had once held so much life and caring were empty and blank, gazing sightlessly into the sky at the delighted words, "Voldemort is dead, killed by the Boy Who Lived." His lips were curved in a faint half-smile, as if Harry had had a triumphant thought in his head at the last moment of life. His untidy locks had fallen away from his face, revealing his scar for all to see.  
  
Sirius, as Ginny had, looked around frantically for the boy's glasses. Numbness had swept through his entire exhausted frame, and he slumped to the ground before reaching out to grab at the glasses. Feeling Remus' weight against him, he attempted to put the glasses on his godson's face.  
  
"Sirius?" He ignored the voice, cursing at his trembling fingers as he couldn't put the glasses on. At last, gentle, scratched-up hands held his steady and fitted the glasses onto Harry's visage. "Sirius, look at me." His trembling fingers moved to smooth over those untidy locks to cover the scar, because he knew that James didn't like people looking.  
  
But-but Harry was the one with the scar. Not James. And James' eyes hadn't been green; Lily and Harry's had been. Those two thoughts jolted him enough that he turned to gaze into understanding eyes.  
  
"Sirius?" Remus Lupin repeated, cradling his friend and whispering carefully so not to startle the haunted, dazed man.  
  
"Remus-we've got to get Harry away. He-he won't like all the celebrating. It'll upset him." The best friend of James Potter was almost childlike in the way he gazed helplessly into his friend's eyes. "Where's his Firebolt? We can get him away using his Firebolt-"  
  
"Sirius, Harry's gone. He won't care about the celebrating. He's not here to be upset."  
  
"He's right there!" Sirius struggled to jerk his hand to point towards Harry's body, but Remus pinned his arms to his side, using the last of his werewolf strength to control his companion.  
  
"He's dead, Sirius. You know he is."  
  
"No, no, no. James is dead. Harry isn't. Harry can't be."  
  
Remus simply held the other man, his emaciated face revealing his own despair. There had been fair too many deaths, and he had become a murderer. He had killed some of his old friends and it had been only Sirius who had kept him from killing more. Perhaps the Ministry would swoop down on him because of the murders he had committed against his will. Remus really didn't know. What he did know was that Sirius needed him now, and if he didn't hold Sirius now, the other man would do something he'd eventually regret.  
  
And so he held the other man, held him until the numbness wore off and Sirius Black dissolved into tears and screamed out his sorrow like a young child, cursing Voldemort and Wormtail and Lucius Malfoy and every other Death Eater. It was long into the night when Sirius finally stopped weeping and let himself slip into a soothing darkness of exhausted sleep.  
  
And Remus held him as he slept, carried him with the help of magic back to Hogwarts, cradled the other original Marauder in his arms as they entered the castle where hundreds celebrated the death of Voldemort.  
  
But that solemn group of nine didn't rejoice. In fact, they wept tears of despair as they carried the body of the Boy Who Lived to be laid among the fallen of the Final Battle.  
  
And who could have blamed them?  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
The Daily Prophet  
  
~~ The Boy Who Loved ~~  
  
May 23rd-London, England  
  
Today, the entire wizarding world is laughing tears of both joy and sorrow. Yesterday, You-Know-Who fell in the Final Battle, ending one of the worst reigns of a Dark Lord in history. However, in the Final Battle our champion, the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, became world famous when he was only one-year-old nearly seventeen years ago. After the Dark Lord murdered his parents, You-Know-Who attempted to kill him. Instead, the Curse rebounded on him, leaving the Dark Lord helpless until twelve years later, when he became as powerful as before. During the next three years, Harry Potter was one of the main defenders against You-Know-Who, alongside Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and now Minister of Magic after Cornelius Fudge's resignation three weeks ago. It was he who killed the Dark Lord yesterday, and for that he will be forever known for.  
  
However, none of us really got to know the young Potter. He was a hero, but we all forgot he was human too. If he had lived, he would have graduated from Hogwarts in a few weeks. After his death, a letter addressed to the Daily Prophet was found with his belongings, and it is our pride to present this to the wizarding world.  
  
"Dear Whom It May Concern,  
  
I'm Harry Potter. If you all read this, then I didn't survive the defeat of Voldemort. Actually, that last sentence was useless, since I know I'll be dead. I'm not sorry for my death though, and no one else should be too. There is one thing I want to be clear on, though. You all have dubbed me the Boy Who Lived. Well, after my death, that title won't exactly work, will it? So I have one request. Call me The Boy Who Loved, because I did. There are so many people I loved and yet they all died because of me.  
  
Cedric Diggory, a seventh year Hufflepuff died nearly four years ago because of me. He was struck down by Peter Pettigrew because he happened to be by my side during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament.  
  
Only a few weeks after that, a fellow Gryffindor in my year named Parvati Patil died by a Death Eater's hand in an ambush at Diagon Alley during the summer. She died because she was a Gryffindor.  
  
A few months after the death of Parvati, my best friend's brother, Charlie Weasley, died in Romania protecting the dragons he loved. A Gryffindor and one of the house's best Seekers when he was at Hogwarts, he died because he supported me.  
  
Only a year ago, several people I loved died during my sixth year of Hogwarts. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, both in Gryfffindor, fell within a couple weeks of each other. Best friends as close as brothers, Seamus and Dean were both killed by Peter Pettigrew because the man knew I had befriended them. Rebeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper of Hogwarts and also teacher of the Care of Magical Creatures, was murdered by Lucius Malfoy in front of my eyes. Hagrid died because of his staunch support of me.  
  
During the summer before my seventh year, Peter Pettigrew was determined to break me. That's why Hermione Granger was killed by his hand. Hermione was one of my two best friends, and she would have been Head Girl. Possibly one of the brightest students in the world, I have no doubt she would have gone far. Three days later, my other best friend tracked him down and killed him, afterwards losing his own life. The trio had been broken forever in less than a week, and I was left alone.  
  
A few months later, Neville Longbottom died by a Death Eater's hand. As most of the adult world knows, Neville's parents were Mr. and Mrs. Frank Longbottom, who were aurors and driven insane after Voldemort's first downfall. Neville was a brave soul. Forgetful, but he was one of the bravest people I know. He died because he was strong enough to fight against Death Eaters much stronger than he.  
  
Only a few weeks ago, Molly Weasley was killed by Lucius Malfoy. The wife of Arthur and mother of (in order of age from oldest to youngest) Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny, Molly was a courageous woman who dedicated her life to protecting her family and fighting against Voldemort. That is why she lost her life.  
  
Only a few days, one of the bravest boys I've ever had the honor to meet died. Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin, sacrificed everything for the wizarding world. He betrayed his father, Lucius, and destroyed all he ever had in the progress. He killed his own father, and then died by a werewolf a few minutes later. He is one of the victims and heroes of the War, and another small request would be for someone to dedicate a monument for he and any other Slytherin who fought against Voldemort.  
  
I loved everyone I have just talked about. They all took a part of my heart, and that is why I am almost glad to die. I beg you all, however, not to be disheartened by my words. You all have a full life without Voldemort to look forward to. I beg you all to celebrate and be joyful. Voldemort is dead! Let the world celebrate! Drink a toast to the survivors of the War, and then drink a toast those who did not survive. Remember the fallen with a mixture of sorrow and pride, for they died with honor.  
  
And, I ask, remembered me as the Boy Who Loved, for I loved, I loved all too well.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Harry Potter."  
  
The funeral service will be held tomorrow evening, at seven o'clock. Everyone is invited to attend.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
"The winter here's cold, and bitter  
  
It's chilled us to the bone  
  
We haven't seen the sun for weeks  
  
Too long too far from home  
  
I feel just like I'm sinking  
  
And I claw for solid ground  
  
I'm pulled down by the undertow  
  
I never thought I could feel so low  
  
Oh darkness I feel like letting go  
  
If all of the strength and all of the courage  
  
Come and lift me from this place  
  
I know I could love you much better than this  
  
Full of grace  
  
Full of grace  
  
My love  
  
So it's better this way, I said  
  
Having seen this place before  
  
Where everything we said and did  
  
Hurts us all the more  
  
It's just that we stayed, too long  
  
In the same old sickly skin  
  
I'm pulled down by the undertow  
  
I never thought I could feel so low  
  
Oh darkness I feel like letting go  
  
If all of the strength  
  
And all of the courage  
  
Come and lift me from this place  
  
I know I could love you much better than this  
  
Full of grace  
  
Full of grace  
  
My love."  
  
THE END  
  
(Author's Notes: Ligabimus in Latin does mean, 'We shall bind,' and Gratiam habeo does mean, 'Feel grateful.' Since I'm a Latin student, I like to use what I learn in stories. I hold you all enjoyed this story, and please remember to review. Constructive criticism is preferable. Thank you. ~Cinaed) 


End file.
